Bonus chapter

Kim Jennie

Sometimes I bolt awake at night, the haunting remnants of a nightmare springing up beads of perspiration across the expanse of my forehead.

I'd look to the side, and discover, with stark relief, that she was right next to me, her eyelids tightly shut, the sacred peace imbued with sleep upon her.

When my breathing calmed, I would watch her for a while, observe the gentle but steady rise and fall of her chest, the shallow breaths telling signs of her slumber.

Then I would return to sleep, secure in the knowledge that she was next to me.

We have been married for five years now, and every moment of the past half a decade that I spent with her has been deeply engraved upon my mind, a vivid, sweet aftertaste and a promise of forever.

The day we got married we took a trip to the country both she and I had considerable intimacy with, the rolling hills and fresh air of New Zealand surfacing fond memories.

We rented out a small villa near the sandy shores of East Auckland, where we spent a month in bliss.

Thinking back, that was when my nightmares started, the intense feeling of loss gripping my chest like a caged animal, refusing to let go. But whenever I woke up, anticipating the right side of the bed to be empty and cool, a fear that the past few weeks had been a blissful dream, I would find her dozing peacefully next to me.

And for that I am eternally grateful for her.

The first time we made love, I remember sobbing into her shirt, the tears escaping me before I knew they had formed.

“I love you,” I'd told her, “don't leave me alone.”

But she had taken my hand, intertwining her fingers with mine, her fingers reaching up to wipe away my tears. And she'd kissed me, gentle and sweet, the salty taste of tears melding into a soft, warm tingle.

No other words passed between us, and everything was said with a shuddering breath, a kiss, and a touch. We were passion, the energetic sparks from a young fire, yet gentle, like the soft melody of an old tune from a distant memory.

I never stopped kissing her, even after, as she lay exhausted, her beautiful auburn hair spiralling out from her. Her lips, her hair, her neck.

I memorised every nook and cranny of her body, committed it to memory. I was so afraid, the fear so insistent and overbearing, that she was going to disappear from my side.

But even then she'd reassured me in the little things she did, even when she thought I wasn't aware. She would pretend to be asleep even when she awoke earlier than I, just so I would not panic at the sight of the empty bed.

And sometimes, when I awake in the middle of the night, gasping for air, she would snuggle up closer to me, just so I could feel her warmth, her presence.

And I loved her all the more for it.

When it was time for us to return home to the apartment we now endearingly call 'home’, I remember her taking my hand, leading me back home.

She turned to me then, a slight smile on her face. “Come on in.”

I couldn't shake off the feeling that something was up, and ominous or not, I cracked open the front door.

And a muffled bark escaped.

“Chaeyoung?” I looked to her in amazement, “what was that?”

She'd shrugged, a grin tugging on the corners of her lips.

Then I threw the door open, and there I saw him. A stout, small brown ball of fluff. A puppy.

Kuma.

“Let's be happy together,” Chaeyoung said, taking my hand.

I answered her with a kiss.